by Meg Muldoon
“I wanted to ask you if you could help me with it,” she said, her voice shaking. “You know, give me a few tips. Tell me what I should do.”
“What?” I said.
“There’s no reason for you to help me. But you know how to bake, and you’re a good business woman. I’ve sunk my life’s savings into this shop, and if it goes under, I don’t know what I’m going to do, Cinnamon.”
I couldn’t believe what she was saying.
How could she be asking me for my help after what she’d done?
Because as much as she wanted to sell me on that whole I wouldn’t have destroyed your life if I didn’t think he was the one bit, I knew better.
I remembered the time she came into my shop wearing a diamond ring, lying and telling me that Evan had popped the question.
That little incident still made my blood boil.
“Please, Cinnamon. You have so much experience running a shop, and I wouldn’t need that much of your time. Just some advice. It would mean everything to me.”
It would mean everything to her.
I could remember a time when Evan had meant everything to me. But that hadn’t mattered to her then.
Why should this matter to me now?
As far as I was concerned, she was getting what was coming to her.
Karma could be a real bitch sometimes.
“I’m sorry about your business, Bailey,” I said. “But you were right at the start. You’re looking for sympathy in the very last place you’re going to find it.”
I abandoned my cart in the aisle and turned around, walking away quickly.
I couldn’t look at her face any longer.
Chapter 23
It’d been one hell of a long day.
All I wanted to do when I got home was take a cold shower, drink a cup of tea, and fall asleep to an old Western.
But I had a script to get through. Even an undercover Mrs. Claus needed to know most of her lines when the curtains went up.
I yawned as I drove down our street and then pulled up into the driveway.
Daniel’s truck was sitting out on the curb.
I bit my lip.
I was glad he was there. Maybe he was starting to forgive me for not giving him the answer he wanted. But after having just seen Bailey, I didn’t feel much like talking things out right now. Plus, I knew that the topic of me taking over for Kara in the Christmas River in July festivities would come up. I didn’t much feel like arguing more with him if he was going to give me a hard time about it.
I got out of the car, grabbing the pie I’d brought home from the shop and tucking the script under my arm, and shuffled up the driveway.
Daniel and Warren were sitting on the porch, drinking beer.
“Ya see how smooth this one is? It’s because it’s a nitro. There’s nitrogen used when it’s dispensed, so there’s almost no carbonation.”
I got the same speech from Warren a couple of nights before. It tickled me that someone his age could still find new things to become so engrossed in.
“I’ll admit, I thought it was a little flat at first, but it’s growing on me,” Daniel said, taking a drink of his beer. “Flavor’s pretty damn good. What do you call this one again?”
“Larry and I named it Nitro Ned Kelly,” Warren said.
Daniel chuckled.
“Of course you did.”
Huckleberry came bounding down the steps at me, wagging his nub and pushing against my legs. I stopped for a moment and ran my free hand through his fur a few times before continuing up to the porch.
“Well if isn’t my three favorite boys,” I said. “I see you’ve all started the evening without me.”
“Hey Cinny,” Warren said. “I was just enlightening Daniel here about some of the latest trends in the beer industry.”
Daniel smiled.
He was wearing a loose gray t-shirt and faded jeans. His cowboy boots were resting on the bottom of the porch railing.
It struck me just how well he fit into my porch.
“Apparently Warren says I wouldn’t know an IPA from a stout if my life depended on it, so he’s been kind enough to impart some of his wisdom.”
I grinned.
Warren and Daniel hadn’t gotten along the first few months that Daniel and I had been dating. Warren still held grudges from when Daniel had left all those years ago when we were just teenagers. But eventually, the two of them had become friends. And lately, they were like two peas in a pod.
Part of the reason for that was that Daniel was a stand-up guy who made an effort to be friendly with Warren. On several occasions, Daniel was nice enough to drive him out to Bend, a town about fifty miles away, to get brewing supplies. Warren had even allowed Daniel to join his poker group, probably just about the biggest compliment that he could give to anyone.
“Long day, Cinny?” Warren asked, taking another sip from his pint glass.
“You could say that again,” I said.
“Sounds like you need a beer too,” Warren said, getting up slowly and then opening the screen door to go inside the house.
I put down my bag and leaned my lower back against the railing.
“You do look tired,” Daniel said.
I shrugged.
“Have you been here long?” I asked.
“Oh, an hour or so,” he said. “But don’t worry. I like chewing the fat with the old man.”
“Yeah, sorry. I had to stop at the store. Plus, there was something else that made me late.”
“Oh yeah?” he said, leaning forward in his chair.
I took a deep breath.
“I don’t think you’re gonna like it,” I said, taking Warren’s empty seat.
There was a long pause as I tried to figure out how to explain it without stirring things up.
“Well, I can’t know how to feel about it unless you tell me,” he said. “So, spill.”
“It’s stupid,” I said. “But you know how Kara dropped out of the Christmas River in July Play? Well, she asked me to fill in for her. And I told her I would do it.”
He furrowed his brow.
“It’s not like I have any burning desire to be Mrs. Claus or anything. But I think I can do some good for Kara. I think the fact that the arsonist was dressed up as Santa makes it possible that he’s connected to the play. And if I can just find out what that connection is, then I can—”
“Wait,” Daniel said, shaking his head. “I don’t like where this is going, Cin. You can’t get involved in this. It could be dangerous.”
“I knew you’d say that,” I said. “But Kara’s my best friend, and if I have a chance to help her, then I’m going to do what I can.”
“I’m not saying don’t help her,” he said. “Bake her a pie, take her out to happy hour, go on a road trip… whatever she needs. Just don’t be reckless.”
“But I have a chance to do more for Kara than taking her out to the salon,” I said. “And a best friend wouldn’t let that opportunity go by the wayside.”
“Cin,” Daniel said, looking sharply at me. “I’m sure Kara appreciates all that you’re trying to do, but let me do my job. I’ll take care of it. You getting involved is only going to distract me and make me worry.”
“What’s all this?” Warren said, opening the porch screen door.
He was carrying a pint of dark-colored beer.
Daniel sighed, leaned back in his chair, and laced his fingers behind his head.
“Cin says she’s filling in for Kara in the Christmas River in July Play,” he said. “She’s trying to find out who set Kara’s shop on fire. And I’m telling her it’s a bad idea.”
Warren handed me the glass and then stared at me with that worrisome look he used to get when I’d tell him I was headed out to the movies with Evan when I was teenager.
“Back me up, would you Warren?” Daniel said, looking up at him.
“Do you really think that that’s a good idea, Cinny Bee?” Warren asked.
I felt my
cheeks grow red with frustration.
That was the danger of two peas in a pod. They usually found themselves on the same side of the fence in instances like this.
“Look,” I said. “It’s just a stupid play. Nothing bad is going to happen.”
“Lincoln said those exact words once too,” Warren said.
I rolled my eyes.
“I can’t afford you getting too close to this,” Daniel said. “Maybe the arson is connected to the play somehow, maybe it’s not. But I don’t want you anywhere near this, Cin.”
“He’s right,” Warren said. “It’s not your job to take down the bad guys.”
I let out a long sigh.
I should have known they’d both see it this way.
It was unfair, both of them ganging up on me like this. Telling me what I could and couldn’t do like I didn’t have a mind of my own.
In fact, the more I thought about it, the more it pissed me off.
I didn’t like being talked down to like that.
I stood up and grabbed the script off the railing.
“I appreciate your input, but I’ve given them my word I’d be in the play,” I said. “I’m not about to break that.”
“C’mon, Cin—”
“I’m going upstairs to memorize my lines,” I said. “You can come help me if you want, but either way, that’s what I’m doing.”
I looked at Daniel. He was angry, two creases between his eyebrows.
“So that’s just it?” he said. “You don’t care what Warren or I think? You’re just going to do what you want?”
“I’m doing it for Kara,” I said.
He shook his head and stood up.
“And you don’t care that it’s only going to make me worry?”
“This isn’t about you,” I said.
He looked at me with hurt and angry eyes.
He brushed past me.
“Thanks for the beer, Warren,” he said, grabbing his hat off the railing.
I watched as he walked down the steps.
In the last week, we’d had more fights than the year and half we’d been together combined.
I was worried what that spelled.
On the fourth step, he turned around to look at me.
“I came over because Steph wanted to take us out to dinner tomorrow night,” he said. “But now I’m not so sure if you’ll have time to go, what with rehearsal and all.”
“Maybe you should just go alone,” I said, venom seeping into my voice. “I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do with your old girlfriend anyway.”
“Don’t do that, Cinnamon,” he said.
“Goodnight, Dan,” I said.
Even I knew that was a cheap shot.
I went inside, Huckleberry lagging behind me.
Then I rushed upstairs, wrapped my arms around Huck’s soft fur, and cried for a long while.
Chapter 24
I woke up the next day feeling as rotten as a carton of expired milk on a hot day.
I couldn’t believe I’d said the things I’d said to Daniel the night before.
It was like waking up with a hangover. All I wanted to do was curl up, go back to sleep, and pretend that the night before had never happened.
But that wasn’t a real option.
Daniel and I needed to talk. To really talk.
I knew he still didn’t understand where I was coming from. We needed to sit down so I could draw him a map.
I sent him a text message saying I was sorry and asking if he could stop by the shop later that afternoon.
I didn’t get a response.
I took a shower, got dressed, and locked up. Even in the coolness of dawn, the day had the promise of being another doozy.
In all my years living in Christmas River, there’d never been a heat wave quite like this. The trees couldn’t even take it, their branches drooping the way they did in the winter when they were heavy with snow. I could almost hear the withering plants begging for mercy as the sun crept over the horizon, spreading light across the sky.
Heat waves like this were unusual in this part of the country, and it could only mean that a bad wildfire season was ahead. Usually in August, the Pohly National Forest had a good amount of wildfires brought on by summer thunderstorms. And unless we were going to get some days of rain before the late summer storms came in, it would be one of the worst fire seasons yet.
When I got to the shop, I opened the back door to try and get some circulation through the kitchen. I put the fans on high, but all they seemed to do was spread stuffy hot air around.
I made a phone call to the air conditioner repair company. I knew it was too early for anyone to be there at the office, but I figured if they walked in this morning to a scathing message on their answering machine, maybe, just maybe, they’d get their asses in gear and come fix my air conditioner.
After leaving said message, I put on Van Morrison’s St. Dominic’s Preview to wake me up and get the wheels rolling. I grabbed a few sheets of pie dough from the fridge that Chrissy had made the day before, and began rolling them out on a floured cutting board.
Oddly enough, I found that when I was frustrated, or angry, or upset, working with pastry was just about the only thing that really cleared my mind. And I ended up doing some of my most creative work when I was upset. The weeks after I found out that Evan was cheating on me had been oddly inspired. I’d created my award-winning Christmas River Cherry Pie during that time, a flavor that had since become my top seller.
I flashed on Bailey’s sad, haggardly-looking face the evening before in the grocery store.
Aside from my fight with Daniel, that was also weighing heavily on my mind.
I shook my head, scolding myself.
Imagine that—me feeling guilty about Bailey. In a million years, I never thought I’d find myself feeling sympathetic toward that witch’s plight.
Bailey was in over her head and I had no reason to bail her out.
But I guess the thing that was bugging me the most was that she had point blank asked me, maybe even begged me, for my help. And then I had point blank shot her down.
She deserved it. But at the same time, I wondered what that said about me.
I placed a pan of pie crusts in the oven and then got to work on the White Peach Mountain Blueberry Pie. The last batch I had made still wasn’t right. The flavor was a little bland, and it was still missing something.
I peeled and chopped up some lovely white peaches and put them in a sauce pan with fresh blueberries, bourbon, brown sugar, butter, corn starch, and a dash of cloves. I mixed all the ingredients together over medium heat until the sugar dissolved and the mixture started bubbling. I let it go like that until the peaches started softening up.
When I had poured the filling into the prepared crusts, I heard the front door open and the familiar sound of Chrissy’s Converse shoes shuffling across the dining room floor.
“I can’t believe how hot it is in here,” she growled, walking into the kitchen and hanging her bag up on the coat rack in the corner.
She was wearing heavy eyeliner and had her long dark hair tied up into a ponytail. She was wearing her usual summer uniform of a plaid shirt, long shorts, and a lip ring.
“You can say that again,” I said.
She pulled down one of the Cinnamon’s Pies cowgirl aprons from the rack.
“Can’t you get that damn air conditioner fixed already?”
It was an unusual outburst from her.
Chrissy was a steady, unemotional person most of the time. I don’t think I’d ever heard a single cross word from her.
I wondered what was wrong.
“I’m working on it, Chrissy,” I said. “In the meantime, I’m sorry that we have to work in this heat. I don’t like it any more than you do.”
She let out a long sigh and angrily tied the apron around her small waist.
“This is unbearable, Ms. Peters,” she said.
“I know. And if you need to take
the day off, go ahead and do it,” I said. “I won’t dock your pay. I know that these conditions aren’t ideal.”
I went about making another round of pies for the second oven. This time, a few Cinnamon Blueberry and Mountain Cherry pies. In the background, Van was singing about redwood trees. I tried to focus on that, and not on Chrissy’s tantrum.
I’d been on enough of an emotional roller coaster in the past 48 hours. I didn’t have the energy to take on whatever she was going through too.
She let out another long sigh.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’m going through some personal stuff. I’m acting like a brat. Just ignore me.”
She grabbed some ingredients from the cupboard and started on a batch of dough.
“Anything I can help with?” I asked.
“I’m just having some problems with Carson,” she said.
I saw a flash of sadness in her eyes.
“It’s not a big deal,” she said, shrugging.
But I could tell by the tone of her voice that it was a big deal.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, not really,” she said. “It’s just, he’s been acting weird lately. I’m worried that… that he might be stepping out on me.”
She said it quickly, like it would somehow hurt less.
“Jeez, I’m so sorry, Chrissy,” I said, placing my hand on her shoulder.
She stood stiff.
“It’s really not a big deal,” she said. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
I peered into her face. Her eyes were welling-up with tears.
She reminded me so much of myself at that age. We tried so desperately to convince the world we were tough with our piercings and dyed hair. But it was all just a distraction so nobody could see how sensitive we really were.
I really hoped Carson wasn’t cheating on her.
She didn’t need to go through any of that.
I thought back to all those nights I spent at home after I found out that Evan was cheating on me. Those nights spent mindlessly watching the TV, gorging myself on ice cream and downing wine like there was no tomorrow. Because that’s how it had felt then. Like there was no tomorrow, and if there was one, it wasn’t worth living.
